


Kisses Under the Mistletoe

by jdrush



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fix-it fic, Humour, Leap fic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Sam's leaped home.  Or has he?
Relationships: Sam Beckett/Al Calavicci
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Kisses Under the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Sam Beckett, Al Calavicci, and everything connected with Quantum Leap belong to MCA/Universal, Bellisarius Productions, and NBC Television.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm still working on my next "Magnificent Seven" fic, but 'tis the season, as they say. So I'm re-gifting a very old holiday story I wrote for my first fandom. (It's one of the few that doesn't make me cringe) Happy Holidays to everyone!

Kisses Under the Mistletoe  
by J.D. Rush  
  
_"Bells will be ringing, the sad, sad news,_  
_Oh, what a Christmas, to have the blues,_  
_My baby's gone . . . I have no friends,_  
_To wish me greetings, once again."_ 1  
  
The effects of the leap-in were fading for me; I found myself with my hands cupped, cold water freezing my fingers. Startled, I flinched, the water splashing into the sink in front of me. I quickly looked around to make sure no one saw my odd behavior, but I was alone, apparently in my 'host's' own bathroom. Sighing with relief, I allowed myself to look into the mirror above the sink, and I almost jumped out of my skin. Literally.  
  
I was looking at my own reflection.  
  
Not believing what I was in fact seeing, I tentatively touched the mirror, outlining the features, before moving my fingers to my face. I touched my cheeks, my chin, even my generous nose; I felt the feathery caresses, saw it reflecting back at me. Tears filled my eyes . . . my own hazel green eyes . . . as my breath quickened.  
  
I was home.  
  
No, not home. It didn't look like I had aged a day since I had first leaped, and that just wasn't possible. I had been gone a few years now (how many, I wasn't sure) but definitely long enough that some evidence would show on my face. And wouldn't I have arrived in the Waiting Room? Or the Accelerator? Certainly not in my own bathroom. No, it was just another leap . . . or was it?  
  
I was just about to go investigate, see what I could turn up, when the Imagining Chamber door 'swished' open behind me. I didn't immediately see Al, since his holographic image didn't reflect in the mirror, but I heard him loud and clear, "Holy shit, do you know who you leaped into THIS time?"  
  
I smiled. "Uh-huh . . . and I'm at the Project."  
  
"How could you know that?" he demanded.  
  
I pulled a towel down from its rack to dry my hands, and noticed for the first time the wedding band on my left hand. "Oh, the crested towels, the emblem mug, the monogrammed bathrobe . . . ."  
  
"Don't forget the insignia underwear."  
  
Turning to face him, and seeing his friendly smirk, I knew he was pulling my leg, and I smiled back. "So I know the who and where . . . what about the when and why?"  
  
Consulting the handlink, even though I was sure he already knew the information, he casually remarked, "Well, the when is easy . . . it's December 24th, 1994 . . . ."  
  
"I . . . I haven't leaped yet, have I?" I interrupted.  
  
"No. That'll happen in a few months."  
  
The date finally registered, "It's Christmas Eve."  
  
"Yeah . . . quite a coincidence."  
  
"Why's that?" I asked, curiously.  
  
"Well, it is back here, too," he replied. "Usually you're not even in the same time zone as everyone else, but today is December 24th for us, too."  
  
"What year?" I tried to slip in.  
  
He shook his head tolerantly, "Uh-uh . . . nice try, kid, but you gotta get up earlier in the morning to trip me up." Looking back to his handlink he continued, "Now, the WHY is still unknown."  
  
"Maybe . . . maybe I'm here to stop me from leaping prematurely?"  
  
"Uh-uh – Ziggy's actually giving that one negative numbers. 'Sides, if that were the case, you'd've leaped in closer to the day of the first leap, not six months ahead of time."  
  
I sighed. "I suppose you're right. What did I have to say?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Me . . . ahhh, the me in the Waiting Room? Did he give any insight at all?"  
  
He laughed, "No – he, YOU, took one look where you were and promptly fainted on us. Still out cold as far as I know. But I figured I better get my butt in here ASAP and check up on you." Taking a puff on his cigar, he continued, "Anyway, this may take a little while. As far as I can remember, nothing significant happened to you during that time."  
  
"What about you?" I prompted.  
  
"Nada. But you're on the right track. Ziggy's questioning everyone on staff, to see if they can remember anything happening to anyone here . . . for now, that's all we can think of doing."  
  
I nodded, trying to look disappointed with the lack of information, but secretly pleased. I was home, even if it wasn't REALLY home, and it appeared I was stuck here for a while. Poor, poor me. "Well, you should get back, and see if Ziggy's got anything new to report. Or maybe I've finally come to."  
  
"Yeah." He stopped, and looked at me, giving me a smile. "It's good to see ya' again, kid." And with that, he punched up the exit code, leaving me alone once again. I wrapped my warm terry cloth PQL robe around me, and went to investigate my place.  
  
MY place!  
  
_"Choirs will be singing, silent night,_  
_Christmas carols, by candlelight,_  
_Please come home for Christmas,_  
_Please come home for Christmas,_  
_If not for Christmas . . . by New Year's night."_ 1  
  
First thing I noticed was I banged my head on something hanging from the bathroom door-frame . . . mistletoe. That was a bizarre place to hang it! But then, a quick glance around the room showed the stuff was hanging from EVERY door-frame. I gave a laugh. Had to be Al. Only he believed mistletoe to be the most important Christmas decoration. He did this every year – the Project was always covered with the stuff. Odd, though, that it was all over my apartment, too.  
  
I walked over to the living room, my attention riveted to my stereo. I turned it on, soft Christmas carols instantly filling the room. I smiled, as I wandered around the room, picking up framed photos on the end tables: a Sears special of Katie and Jim and their three lovely children, and beside it, Tom – TOM! – and his lovely wife. Sarah? Yeah. Sarah. And their . . . oh, boy! FIVE CHILDREN! And I remembered them!! Tommy, Johnny and Sammy . . . Nicole, and the baby, Kimberlyn.  
  
When I got over my initial shock of seeing them in front of me in living color, I moved on to the other photos scattered around the room: me and Al, in our tuxes, at the Nobel Prize ceremony; mom and Katie on the beach in Hawaii (gosh, that one looked so familiar!); me and Verbena mugging it up in some horrible Halloween costumes; a beautiful studio shot of Al, all decked out in his Navy whites. I picked that one up to study it closer, and a tremor went through me. I remembered him giving it to me, as a gift. Birthday, I think. I had always thought he looked so . . . regal . . . in that uniform. He carried it like no one I had ever seen before. And the photo captured that handsome elegance perfectly. Holding the picture was starting to make me nervous, so I put it down, before I could analyze why.  
  
I poked around a bit more in the parlor, puzzled by the lack of photos of my wife, Donna, before heading into my bedroom. The sun was just starting to set, and the room was cast in a beautiful orange/red haze. I was drawn to the window, just staring out at the panoramic scene in front of me. Been a long time since I saw this view, and I was enjoying it, although it was a bit disconcerting with "Winter Wonderland" playing in the background. That was one thing I had never gotten used to – Christmas in New Mexico. To me, growing up in Indiana, Christmas meant snow . . . a LOT of snow. But still, I was home, and it was the holidays. That made me happy.  
  
I went to the bureau and dug out some underwear, a pair of jeans, and an old NASA sweatshirt that Al had thieved for me on one of his trips back east. Sitting on the bed, pulling MY clothes on MY body, I couldn't help but smile again. I was slipping a sock over my right foot when I saw it on the nightstand: another frame of photos of me and Al. I picked it up, and almost dropped it again, as I felt a blow to my gut strong enough to knock the wind from me. I stared in disbelief at the images in the pewter tri-frame.  
  
On the first flap, Al and I were sitting in a gondola – Al's arm was around my shoulder, and we were both laughing. On the other flap, Al stood next to Michelangelo's famous David, giving him the infamous Calavicci leer. And in the center . . . in the center . . . we stood in our Sunday best suits, wrapped in each other's arms, beaming at the camera, standing outside a tiny little chapel.  
  
I just stared at the photos for long minutes, digesting everything I saw. I WAS married, but it wasn't to Donna. It was Al. Al and I were . . . we were married! I looked again upon the gold band gracing the third finger of my left hand, and it all came back to me in a flash. It was a quickie ceremony in Hawaii in 1993, while visiting mom and Katie. At that time, the state's Supreme Court had just handed down a verdict allowing licenses be issued to 'same-sex' couples, and Al and I had pounced on the opportunity. No wonder the photo of my mother and sister in the living room looked so familiar . . . it was taken during the reception, at Katie's house.  
  
From there, we had flown out to Italy for a long, three-week honeymoon. We toured Venice, Florence, Rome, Abruzzi, and a few other cities, visiting all the places and relatives Al had only ever heard about, but had never actually seen. It was without question the most wonderful month of my life.  
  
Holding the frame in my hands, I was overwhelmed with my feelings for Al. At first, there was anger that he had hidden this from me for so long. But that quickly faded, as I realized he had no choice in the matter. Could I really have handled it, knowing what I had left behind? Could I have done everything I needed to do, knowing I was breaking my commitment vows to the man I had lived with and loved for over 15 years? Al had only done what he had to do, to protect me . . . again.  
  
Then there was sadness, and regret, and a lot of guilt. How could I have done that to him? How could I have left him? I had abandoned him, just like everyone else in his life. But he had never deserted me, never left my side. No matter what, he was always there for me. Through thick and thin, for better or worse. He had put his life on hold just for me, waiting for me to return to him. The knowledge of his love flowed over me, filling me, completing me.  
  
Finally, there was my love for him, the all-encompassing love I had for Alberto Calavicci. My beautiful, compassionate, intelligent, funny, exasperating, unpredictable, sweet, and wonderful Al. The man who had been my friend, my partner, my lover for most of my adult life. The man who believed in me and all my fantasies. The man who did whatever he had to do to make my dreams become reality. The man who loved me like no one ever had, family included. He was my life. He was my world.  
  
And I fell in love all over again.  
  
I put the picture frame down, and finished getting dressed, and not a moment too soon. The front door slammed open, and Al's gruff voice called out, "Sammy, you home, babe?" I scrambled up from the bed to see what there was to see.  
  
I found him in the kitchen, unpacking a bag from a gourmet food store. I just stood there, in shock, watching him gracefully move around the small room. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a pan of homemade lasagna, which he placed into the stove. As he turned to reach for something else, he saw me standing there. "Hey, kid. Howya' doing?" Before I could answer, he shook off his woolen Navy peacoat. "Sorry I'm late . . . dinner will just be a few minutes. Hang that up for me, babe?" and tossed his jacket to me.  
  
I almost dropped the coat as it hit my open hands. It was real. It didn't pass through my body. It wasn't a hologram . . . and neither was Al. I stood stock still, letting the moment sink in. He had assembled all the ingredients he needed for a hearty antipasto on the kitchen counter and was about to commence chopping when he must've sensed I hadn't moved. He turned around, concern on his face, "Everything okay, Sam?"  
  
Gosh, he was gorgeous. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, and my breaths came in short, staccato bursts. How could I not know this? How could I have forgotten this? How could I not remember the way he made me feel? I couldn't speak, the words stuck in my throat. "I . . . I'm fine . . ." but that was all I managed to get out.  
  
He studied me for a moment, and shook his head slowly. "No, you're not okay." Walking towards me, I began to panic. What if he knew I wasn't his Sam? Could he see the REAL me? Soon, he was standing inches from me. I could smell him. OH GOD! I could smell him: his Calvin Klein cologne, his expensive cigars, the traces of soap and shampoo still lingering at this late hour – scents that never covered up, but only enhanced the natural bouquet of Al. For a split second, I thought I'd faint, just as my counter-part had. Suddenly he smiled up at me, "You're waitin' for your kiss, ain'tcha?"  
  
I looked up and noticed I was standing under another sprig of mistletoe; I looked down, and noticed Al was moving closer, and closer still. Then he had his arms around me . . . HE'S TOUCHING ME! . . . and he was pulling me to him and then he was kissing me. HE'S KISSING ME! I felt my knees grow weak, and his coat slipped from my fingers onto the floor. Neither one of us noticed. I wrapped my arms around Al, melted into Al, pressed my mouth and tongue into Al and kissed him until I almost passed out from lack of oxygen.  
  
"Whooaa!" he exclaimed, once he was able to detangle himself from me – I just didn't want to let him go. "SOMEONE'S very frisky tonight!" I swallowed hard, and blushed to my toes, which only caused him to laugh. Handing me the bag of goodies, he pushed me out of the kitchen. "You get the table set . . . there's wine and bread and some candles in the bag . . . and let me finish up in here, 'kay?"  
  
All I could do was stand there and grin like a simpleton, as my heart beat faster, and my chest constricted with the love I felt for this man. "Aye, aye, captain!" I mock-saluted.  
  
He just rolled his eyes heavenward. "Wise ass. And pick up my coat, huh?"  
  
The meal was indescribable. Al has always been an incredible chef – I had forgotten how good his cooking was. I ate way too much lasagna, and drank way too much wine, and I was flying high, just knowing I was sitting there, having our traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner with my husband. I couldn't stop staring at him over the flickering candles, and holding his hand across the table. I'm sure he thought I was just being sappy and romantic, and maybe I was. I didn't care. I was so happy, I could've burst.  
  
Or maybe that was the third serving of Lasagna ala Calavicci.  
  
After dinner, the Beckett/Calavicci traditions continued. First thing we did was put up the tree – artificial, of course. Al wouldn't have it any other way. I couldn't remember when we started putting up the tree on Christmas Eve . . . maybe it was the year we had been so busy we didn't have time to do it before then . . . but we continued doing it every year after that. We were just pulling the lights out of the box when I heard the Imaging Chamber door open again. I left Al with a kiss on the nose, telling him I'd go do the dishes, and he should call when he was done.  
  
He chuckled, "You'd do anything to get outta stringin' up the damn lights, huh?"  
  
"You know me too well, Al."  
  
Wrapping his arms around me, I was treated to another smooch. "But you still keep surprising me, baby," he cooed, as he turned his attention back to the tree.  
  
I stepped into the kitchen, only to find MY Al was already waiting for me. "Good goin', kid. At least it ain't the bathroom, for a change."  
  
Filling the sink, I laughed. "Figured it was the least I could do for you."  
  
But he wasn't laughing. "You know."  
  
He didn't explain what he meant. He didn't have to. "Yeah. I saw the photos of our honeymoon, and I remembered."  
  
"I'm sorry, Sammy . . ." he began, but I stopped him with a soapy hand.  
  
"Don't be, Al," I sighed. "I know why you did it, and I understand." Picking up a glass, and rinsing it, I muttered, "I only wish I knew and understood why I left you."  
  
"That's easy." At my surprised look, he elaborated, "You just did what you had to do. They were gonna shut us down, take away everything you had worked for. Your life's work. You couldn't let that happen without knowing if you were right, if it could be done." He shrugged his shoulder with a sad chuckle, "I couldn't have stopped you if I had tried."  
  
Scrubbing at one of the plates, I said, "You must've hated me."  
  
"Eh, for an hour or two. But I loved you – and I was proud of you." I looked up, and he had a huge smile on his face. "Still am, too."  
  
I smiled back. I was so lucky to have this man in my life. But I knew better than to turn this into a mushy moment, so I just asked, "Have you got anything for me, yet?"  
  
"Not a thing, and Ziggy's going nutzoid on us. Well, more so that usual."  
  
I smirked, knowing why Ziggy couldn't come up with a purpose for my leap. "That's okay, Al . . . I know why I'm here."  
  
"Well, if you do, you're doin' better than the rest of us."  
  
"I . . . I think HE," and I pointed heavenward, soapy water running down my arm, "is giving me a vacation."  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
"A chance . . . to spend Christmas with you."  
  
"Oh, well, that's great, Sam," he said, somewhat sarcastically. "I'm happy for you."  
  
"Al . . . ."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That's not all." I shut off the water, and reached for a hand towel. "I think . . . I think He's giving you a gift, too."  
  
He scoffed, "Whatzat?"  
  
Turning to face him, I smiled that special smile I save just for him. "Me."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I'm in the Waiting Room, right?"  
  
"Yeah?" he agreed, cautiously.  
  
"And it's December 24th, right?"  
  
"Yeah?" he replied, the little light bulb coming on.  
  
I spread my arms wide, "Merry Christmas, Al."  
  
He shook his head. "But . . . but . . . Sam . . . he's not you."  
  
"Yes he is," I told him, patiently. "Just a few years younger. And he probably doesn't want to spend Christmas away from his lover."  
  
"But . . . ."  
  
"Al, I know it's not perfect, but it's the best we can hope for. I've got you, and you've got me – so neither one of us is alone for the holidays this year."  
  
His beautiful eyes lit up. "Do you . . . is it really all right, Sam?"  
  
I leered at him, "Wait till you see what I've got planned for YOU tonight. Now, go . . . and Al . . .?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Don't forget the mistletoe."  
  
++++++++  
  
After Al went back to the future, I went back into the living room to the other Al. The tree looked great – now all we needed to do was decorate it. I turned on some Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby for company, and we went to town. Once done, we curled up on the couch with mugs of eggnog – extra cinnamon for Al – and watched the original Miracle on 34th Street, the only Christmas movie that didn't make either one of us gag.  
  
Then, the tradition we loved the most. At the stroke of midnight, we exchanged gifts. Instead of giving each other lots of things, we purchased only one item, and each year we went out of our way to find the absolute perfect gift. When I saw the small purple-foil box that had Al's name on it, I knew what I had gotten him, and by the look on my lover's face, he knew, too. It was the same thing I got him every year, but I couldn't remember which one I had gotten him in 1994.  
  
Having long ago given up any chance of buying him clothing he'd like (our styles and tastes were just TOO different), I had stumbled onto the pins about ten years earlier. I seemed to have a knack for them. Months could be spent searching out just the right one. In the past, I had pleased him with an illuminating neon blue star, a sterling silver lightning bolt, a geometric Picasso piece d'art, and his favorite – a funky shark wearing pink sunglasses.  
  
I had my own theory on why the pins meant so much to him. Not a vain man, but very military proud, he displayed with honor every ribbon that graced his Naval uniform. As he couldn't wear them in everyday civilian life, he adopted the pins I gave him out of love as his badges of honor. He carefully unwrapped the package, and put aside the paper to be re-used at another time. He then lifted the cover, and I held my breath, almost as anxious as he to see which one would be revealed.  
  
He opened the small gift card attached to the box, and read it aloud, "To my dearest Angel, with love – Birbante," and he laughed. 'Birbante' was his pet name for me. Literally meaning monkey, or a bratty child, it didn't sound so corny in Italian for some reason. He lifted the cover, and gasped. Without trying to appear nosy, I fought for a glimpse in the box. I had truly outdone myself this year.  
  
Inside, on a soft pillow of white tissue paper laid an antique gold anchor about three inches in length, a 'rope' of tiny diamonds wrapped around it. Seeing it, I knew instantly I had initially chosen it for its Naval connotations, but symbolically, it had come to mean so much more. It was fairly ironic that I was there to give it to him, as he had been my anchor to sanity for so long now. If only I could tell him the truth of what he meant to me, of what he had done for me.  
  
He gingerly lifted it out, and held it up, mouth gaping open. No doubt about it – it was a stunning piece. "Oh my God, Sammy," he sighed, in awe.  
  
I choked on the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me, and managed to get out, "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."  
  
"Oh GOD, Sammy," he whispered again, with feeling. He turned those beautiful black velvet eyes on me, misted with tears. "I don't know what to say."  
  
"Well, you could say you like it . . ." I quipped, with a smile.  
  
"Oh, dearheart, you have no idea." Holding it out to me, he pleaded, "Put it on me, please."  
  
I unclasped it, and threaded it through his lapel, a big smile on my face. "You know, I don't think I've 'pinned' anyone since Lisa in high school."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'll be doin' some pinnin' of my own, later," he responded, with a smirk. Pulling me into an earth-shaking kiss, I had no reason to doubt him. But before that could happen, he reached under the tree, and handed me my gift.  
  
He watched expectantly as I ripped off the wrapping (I've never been as conscientious with the paper as Al), and opened the box. It was a snow globe . . . but not just any snow globe. A little farm nested inside, a farm that looked achingly familiar. "It's home," I whispered, in wonderment.  
  
"Yeah, isn't it neat?" he crowed, pleased with himself. "I found a guy who makes them by hand. See, it even has a couple of cows in the field. And it plays music, too."  
  
I tipped it upside down, and wound the crank; soon the beautiful strains of "Ave Maria" came pouring out. "Oh, Al . . . it's wonderful," I croaked, over the lump in my throat. Righting it gently, I watched fondly as the snow fell over the little farm inside. "It's perfect . . . looks just like Christmas Eve back in Elk Ridge."  
  
Guess I forgot I could never hide anything from Al, as he picked up the longing in my voice. "You really wanna go, don't you?" he asked, tenderly.  
  
"Yes, but . . . ." I didn't continue, something telling me there was a reason he had asked me. I carefully placed the globe on the coffee table. "But . . . we can't."  
  
Stepping over to me, he draped his arm lovingly around my shoulders. "Sure we can, babe," he assured me. "Look, I know Weitzman's on our butts and we're neck-deep in budget reports and paperwork, but dammit, Sam, it's Christmas. We should be with your family."  
  
Of course! This is when it all began. For the next six months, we found ourselves in a non-stop struggle to keep PQL alive. Because of our hectic schedule, we didn't get to Indiana that year, buried in our work. And it had all been for nothing in the end, anyway. Well, I wasn't going to make that mistake again. I now knew that THIS is what I was supposed to make right. Al and I were meant to have one last holiday with my family before that ill-fated first leap. But . . . how?! "Al, even if we wanted to go, there's no way to get there for Christmas morning. Every flight's been booked solid for months now."  
  
"Sam, I can fly us out on the company jet."  
  
A huge grin split my face. "The Cessna?" It was one of the perks I had managed to wrangle out of the government. Hey, at that point, what was another three million between friends, right? It made Al so happy to fly it, and it came in real handy with those last minute meetings in D.C. – or a quick jaunt to Vegas.  
  
Al was looking at me as if I had two heads. "Unless you know of another company plane you haven't told me about."  
  
I tried to keep the hope out of my voice, and know I failed miserably. "Do you . . . do you really think we can?"  
  
Wrapping me in his warm embrace, he kissed me on the cheek, "Sure. No problem. Out there and back. One day. No one will even know we're gone." Then, he blessed my lips with a sweet kiss, which quickly turned hot and passionate. Oh, God, how I had missed this! Missed him! And again I was mystified how I could have ever forgotten. Dragging himself away from me, his eyes sparkling with fire, he asked, "Ready to call it a night? We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."  
  
Pulling him back in for a crushing bear hug, I purred, "Not yet . . . Santa hasn't stuffed my stocking yet."  
  
He got that dangerous glint of his, and his lips curled up in a lecherous smirk, "Sammmm . . . ."  
  
We never did make it to the bedroom that night.  
  
_"Friends and relations, send salutations,_  
_Sure as the stars shine above,_  
_But this is Christmas, yes, Christmas my dear,_  
_The time of year to be with the ones you love."_ 1  
  
A week later, I was starting to wonder what was going on. Not that I was complaining, mind you. I was still in 1994, and nothing had gone wrong. In fact, everything had gone right. I glanced over at Al trying to adjust his tie, as we got dressed for Bena's New Year's Eve party. He was having quite a difficult time, being tired and shagged out yet another tumble in the sack. I was sure he was wondering what had gotten into me these last seven days. Lord knows I wasn't acting anything like myself, but perhaps Al didn't want to jinx it by asking what was going on with me.  
  
Christmas morning Al flew us, and all the gifts, out on the Project's Citation to Indiana, where we were greeted by Tom's huge family (the photo on the coffee table was a little out of date – Sarah had twin girls last year!), Katie and Jim and her brood . . . and mom. I was happy to see everyone accepted Al as just another member of the family. Yeah, like they had a choice. My nieces and nephews absolutely adored him, and I'm sure it had nothing to do with the Santa suit he was decked out in, as I found myself once again relegated to the role of 'helper-elf'.  
  
The meal was a feast fit for a king and I made a right pig out of myself. Couldn't help it. It had been literally years since I had one of mom's country spreads. (And how she manages to make her award winning berry cobbler in the dead of winter, I'll never know.) Afterwards, we spent time playing with the kids, singing songs around the piano, watching the Pacers punk the Knicks, eating some more until we could barely move . . . just this simple farm boy's idea of a perfect holiday.  
  
Al was surprised, but not disappointed, when I called the Project and said we'd be 'delayed' in our return. I simply couldn't leave my family again after being apart for so long. Our one-day visit turned into five days – five fun-filled, family-filled, soul-reinvigorating days. And the nights . . . well, let's just say I better never hear Al complain he doesn't get enough, 'cause I gave him more than even HE could handle.  
  
Which could explain why he was practically falling asleep at the mirror. I went to him, and gently placed my hands on his shoulders. He turned exhausted but still twinkling eyes to me, and smiled. Leaning forward, I lovingly kissed him, and took over trying to get his tie straightened out. He was determined to distract me, though, as his lips continued to brush past my fingers. I was just about to suggest another roll in the hay when I heard the Imaging Chamber door open behind me. "Awww, isn't that sweet?"  
  
"AL!" I exclaimed.  
  
"Yeah?" the reply came in stereo.  
  
I must admit I was amazed to see 'my' Al . . . he hadn't visited me since, well, since Christmas Day, now that I think about it. When he had seen we were at the Beckett Farm, he had just wished me a Merry Christmas, and said he'd see me soon. That was six days ago. I only hoped he and my younger self had been having as much fun as me and HIS younger self. "Ah . . . I . . . ahh, I gotta go to the head," I came back with, lamely.  
  
"Don't need my permission," the man in my arms commented, sarcastically.  
  
"Aw, man . . . do I gotta? Even in my own house?" my hologram grumbled.  
  
I shot him a look, and pointedly headed off to the bathroom. Once there, I noticed he looked as haggard as the man in the bedroom. "How you doin', Al?" I asked, with a smirk. I had a pretty good idea I knew what was causing his current state. "You look like something the cat dragged in."  
  
"Huh? Yeah, I guess I haven't gotten much sleep lately."  
  
"Guess I've been giving you a HARD time," I leered.  
  
"You could say that," he smiled, wearily.  
  
"Well, you just tell him to take it easy on you."  
  
"Why don't you tell him yourself?"  
  
"Wha . . .?" Al suddenly reached out his hand . . . and there I was, grasping it. God, did I get old! My younger self said something I couldn't hear, but Al obviously could, and he doubled over laughing. "Wha . . . what did I just say?"  
  
"He said, 'Well, here's ANOTHER fine mess you gotten us into'."  
  
"Oh." And I started laughing, too.  
  
"Look, we won't keep you long. Sammy here just wanted to see what the Imaging Chamber looks like in operation, and well, it's obvious you're getting ready to go out . . . ."  
  
"Bena's rocking New Year's Eve bash," I supplied.  
  
"Yeah – stay away from the punch, unless you wanna be comatose for a week."  
  
"I remember."  
  
"Anyway, just wanted to say . . . happy New Year, kid, and well . . . ." I could see the other Sam nudge him in the ribs, "And . . . I'll be seein' ya in the next millennium."  
  
"So, you think this leap is nearly over, huh?" No way could I hide the disappointment in my voice. I wasn't ready to leave yet . . . didn't WANT to leave yet. There was so much I wanted to say to Al, so much we still had to do. Then it struck me what he had said. "Next millennium? It's going to be 2000?"  
  
"Naw . . . 2001. Everybody jumped the gun last year. THIS year is the dawning of the 21st century."  
  
"I . . . I can't believe you just told me that. I mean, you've always kept what year it is back home a guarded secret."  
  
He smiled at me, then . . . well, at the other me. "Hey, if this works, it won't matter what I tell you."  
  
"If . . . if WHAT works?" I asked, cautiously.  
  
"It's like this, Sam . . . you had this leap figured out all wrong."  
  
"Wrong? How?"  
  
"HE," he said, pointing upwards, "wasn't giving you a vacation . . . just getting you out of the way, so that HE," and he pointed to the beaming, younger Sam Beckett, "could put right what once went wrong."  
  
"Al . . . what are you talking about?"  
  
He didn't answer me, instead speaking to the handlink, "Ziggy, initiate retrieval program #246 Alpha Omega."  
  
I couldn't believe my ears. "Retrieval program?" I squeaked.  
  
A huge smile spread across his face. "Yup. Sammy here's been working us like dogs trying to get it fixed, and we're up to, oh, 91.3% probable success."  
  
They had been working on retrieving me?! "But I thought you looked . . . I mean . . . I thought that . . . ." I know I started to blush. "Didn't you two . . .?"  
  
This time they both grinned from ear to ear. "Well, yeah, we did," Al laughed. "First coupla days we didn't leave the bed. But then we figured if we could find a way to get you home, we could be together every night, and not just a few days."  
  
I was ashamed of myself. Here I was goofing off, and all that time they were working as hard as ever. "I thought you were so worn-out from too much partying."  
  
My lover shook his head, "Nope. The only partying I wanna do is with you." The handlink squealed, and Al checked the printout. "Ah, Zig's all set. Get ready to leap home, hon."  
  
I looked over at my counter-part and smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you so much," I whispered, feeling weird talking to myself like that, but needing to let him know, SOMEHOW, that I appreciated what he had done for me.  
  
Never taking his eyes off me, he leaned over and said something to Al, then they released hands, and he disappeared. At my questioning look, my hologram grinned, wanly, "He had to get back to the Waiting Room before Gooshie can key in the code."  
  
"What did he say?" I found myself asking once more.  
  
Glancing down at the floor, Al didn't answer right away. But then, he looked up at me, and the smile on his face shone in his eyes. "He said to remind you to take good care of me."  
  
"As if I needed to be told."  
  
A sudden knock on the bathroom door scared 10 years off my life. "Hey, Birbante, you okay in there?" my concerned, corporeal Al questioned.  
  
"Sure Al . . ." I started, once I got my breath back. "I'll be out in a couple of minutes."  
  
"Well, hurry up," he commanded, adding impatiently, "The party's gonna start soon."  
  
Meanwhile, the Al in front of me was counting down excitedly, "10-9-8 . . . ."  
  
Oh yeah, Al . . . the party was about to begin. Talk about a rocking New Year's Eve!  
  
_So won't you tell me, you'll never more roam,_  
_Christmas and New Year's will find you home,_  
_There'll be no more sorrow, no grief or pain,_  
_And I'll be happy, happy once again." 1_  
  
The End  


**Author's Note:**

> FOOTNOTES:  
> 1\. "Please Come Home for Christmas" performed by the Eagles, written by Charles Brown and Gene Redd. 


End file.
